


Prop me up before I black out

by Builder



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: BAMF Claire Temple, Concussions, Foggy Nelson Is a Good Bro, Gen, Human Disaster Matt Murdock, Hurt Matt Murdock, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Concussion Syndrome, Sickfic, Superhero Babysitter Claire Temple, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 18:41:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15467601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Builder/pseuds/Builder
Summary: “Claire…” Matt shakes his head and immediately regrets it. “I’m ok. I can tell.”“That’s the thing, though.” Claire adjusts the bag of peas and brushes a lock of hair off Matt’s forehead. “If you’ve got a concussion, I’m not so sure you can.”





	Prop me up before I black out

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prompt from Tumblr. Find me @builder051.

“Claire?”

“What?” Matt’s expecting her to be beside him. The echo to her voice is a surprise.

“Where are you?”

“Kitchen,” she replies. “I’m getting more frozen peas for your head. You need something?”

Does he? Matt can’t remember. “…Claire?”

“Yeah, what?”

“Um—” Matt barely has time to stutter before a gag tears out of his throat. His shoulders pitch forward as he throws up all over the coffee table. He’s halfway to faceplanting in the middle of his own mess, but an arm suddenly appears across his chest, knocking him back. The next wave of puke ends up down his shirt. But at least not falling over.

“Ok,” Claire sighs. “You have a visible contusion to your head.” Her fingers ghost along his hairline. “You’re nauseated. You’re confused.”

“No, I’m not…” Matt starts, but vertigo flares, and he retches again. He’s down to air and spit, so at least it doesn’t add much to the mess.

“As I was saying.” Claire’s curls flop against her shoulders as she shakes her head. “Do you feel like you’re gonna throw up again?”

“’S nothing left,” Matt slurs.

“But you are still nauseous.”

Matt swallows. If he opens his mouth, he’s just going to contradict himself.

Claire sighs. The bag of frozen peas crinkles in her hand, then coldness explodes over Matt’s forehead. He winces, which makes his entire body hurt.

“Sorry. I didn’t think you needed a warning.” The couch cushions dip as she sits down beside him. “Unfortunately, that’s about all I can do for you here. Apply ice. Encourage you to rest.”

“Hm.” Matt hopes the sound gets his disdain across.

“I know, I know.” Of course she does. Claire’s an expert by now. “But every time you say something, you barf.”

“Not…every time.” Matt ducks his chin to quell a sick burp.

“Ok, you barely passed that time.” Claire lets out a breath of laughter. “Doesn’t mean you don’t need to go to the hospital, though.”

“No,” Matt says as firmly as he can. He feels a bubble of saliva burst on his lower lip.

“Classy.” Claire swoops in with a Kleenex. “There. Now you’re not drooling.”

“Shit,” Matt mutters. “I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh.” Claire’s skeptical. “Just get an MRI, Matt. I can pull some strings, get you in and out. It’ll be like an hour of your time.”

“Claire…” Matt shakes his head and immediately regrets it. “I’m ok. I can tell.”

“That’s the thing, though.” Claire adjusts the bag of peas and brushes a lock of hair off Matt’s forehead. “If you’ve got a concussion, I’m not so sure you can.”

Matt lets out his breath, trying his best to forcibly dispel the nausea. “Maybe later.” He’s desperate for her to drop it.

“I don’t have till later.” There’s a quiet jingling as she slides her watch around. “I have 45 minutes till I have to go to work.”

“Isn’t it Saturday?”

“That’s minus two for you,” Claire says. “It’s Sunday. And I’m four on, three off. You know that.”

“But it’s still the weekend.” Matt knows it’s stupid as soon as he says it. But the words don’t leave him ready to gag, so he takes it as a win.

“You have a point there.” Claire leans away from him for a second, then Matt hears the electronic click of her scrolling through his phone. “Somebody’s got to be available to babysit you.”

“No, I just need to go home,” Matt says quickly. “Just catch some sleep. I’ll be fine.” It’s too many words on too little breath, and he feels sick again.

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Claire keeps the bag of peas from creeping down his face, then goes back to scrolling. “Sleep’s healing, but you need to be supervised. What if you don’t wake up?”

Matt means to shrug, but he gets caught up in trying not to retch. He doubts the twitch in his shoulders is perceptible as a conscious response.

“What if you choke on your own puke.”

“That’s a…really lovely thought.”

“I’m serious, Matt. You need someone with you.” Claire’s thumbnail clicks against the screen of his phone, and distant ringing starts over the line.

“Wait, hold on.” Matt tries to snatch his phone away, but dizziness hits him like a train. He’s disoriented for a second, then crashes into Claire’s lap.

“Matt,” she sighs.

“Sorry,” Matt breathes into her thigh.

The phone picks up, and Foggy’s sleepy grumble says, “Hello?”

“Hey! Sorry to bother you so early,” Claire says brightly. “Matt was just on his way out, and he fell down the stairs.”

“Huh?” Matt’s hazy on what happened, but he’s pretty sure that’s not it.

“Shush,” Claire hisses at him.

“Oh my god. Is he ok?” Foggy still doesn’t sound completely awake, but his natural propensity for concern for Matt’s wellbeing seems to be.

“Um, well,” Claire laughs in syrupy fake embarrassment. “He doesn’t want to go to the hospital, but a concussion might be a possibility? Ordinarily I wouldn’t mind staying, but I have to get to work. I’m all out of sick days.”

“Ok, yeah, I’ll come get him,” Foggy says. Later Matt thinks he’ll have to have a talk with both of them. It’s getting old hearing himself referred to like a family dog.

“Thanks.” Claire’s relief might be genuine.

“Sure. What’s your address? And what’s your name again?”

Claire tells him.

“And Matt spent the night with you?” Leave it to Foggy to shatter the delicacy of the situation like a bull in a china shop.

Claire giggles. It’s an odd sound, and one Matt’s never heard her make before. He rotates slowly onto his back as she ends the call. Her knees elevate his head in a way that’s not entirely uncomfortable.

“Alright,” Claire says. “What do you say we get you cleaned up before your ride gets here?” She fluffs Matt’s hair.

The front of his shirt suddenly feels heavy and wet again, and Matt’s stomach turns. He’s covered in puke. The couch probably is, too. And the coffee table. And the floor. “Oh, geez. Sorry.”

“No big deal,” Claire says. She peels Matt’s shirt over his head. “I’ve seen worse. And it’s common in patients with concussions.”

“I don’t have a concussion.”

“Yeah, you do.” Claire props Matt up on the arm of the couch and slips out from under him. “You’re lucky I told your friend the truth. I could’ve told him you were drunk.”

“You didn’t tell him the truth…”

“Hey, you got here at 11:52 last night.”

“Jesus Christ.” She’s nailed him on a technicality. “You’ve got Foggy thinking… Now I’m gonna have to explain…” It would help if he could string a full sentence together.

“Hey, that’s on you,” Claire laughs. “Now sit tight. I’ll get you something to wear. Unless you’d rather I send you home half naked?”

“God, no,” Matt says. He starts to laugh, but has to stop to swallow a gag.


End file.
